


Moonflower

by DemiGoddess



Series: Sanguine Dreams: Rowen [8]
Category: Original Work, Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Blood, Caitiff - Freeform, F/F, Infertile Vitae, Olivia's Return, The beast - Freeform, Trauma, Tzimisce, moonflower - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemiGoddess/pseuds/DemiGoddess





	Moonflower

[London 1933]

The air was different here.

Rowen didn’t need to breathe anymore, but that only increased her appreciation for the air around her. She would force her decade dead lungs to take in the cold, smoggy air of the city and appreciate the prickling chill that no longer felt the same on her skin. It was a comforting compromise between the clean, natural air of the Scottish highlands and the putrid smoke of her native Glasgow.

It was getting colder, she noticed during her manual breathing. Winter can’t be far off. Until recently she would have bemoaned that. Food became scarce when everyone began spending their nights inside, but not this evening. She was on her way to dinner with a winsome lass, you see, a bouquet of violets clutched in her hand. She had to wake up painfully early to get it before the shop closed for the evening, but it would all be worth it.

Rowen exhaled, briefly disturbing her cropped blonde hair. Her freckled skin showed no sign of the cold, but it was pale and slightly waxy, a sign of hunger. She had made sure she would be. Tonight she was going to eat well and savor every second of it. She could feel her fangs ache in anticipation, and passerby suddenly started looking a bit less like people eager to get home to their fireplaces and more like wrapped sausages fresh from the butcher.

She shook her head. “Keep it down, lass. Just ae mite longer, aye?” she chided herself internally. She hugged her vest and exposed arms closer to keep up the masquerade of being a cold human just like everyone else, and hurried to dinner.

\---

There’s hunger. Everywhere. Dead skin aches. The Beast writhes and lolls its tongue. A hand cups its cheek. The one of the two that’s still human speaks to it softly. They’re not words of restraint or reprimand (though the ropes cutting its wrists might make one think otherwise), but of acceptance.

“Remember. I know you can, my love, my moonflower…” Olivia intones softly, as though speaking to a frightened dog. Her thumb strokes the Beast’s cheek, a dangerous game.

When the Beast is soothed, blood is given, and flesh shared.

\---

[London, The Blitz, 1941]

Rowen cries. Not for what she lost, but for what she tried, and failed, to give.  
\---

[Santa Rosa, 2018]

“She can fix you too.”

“...what do I need tae do lass?”


End file.
